Silvia Cruz Lapeña
Thinking is the key to not dying of genius, and that ideas that occur by the thousands go undigested. Such is not the case of “Anónimo”, the second creation of David Coria’s company, an exceptional dancer with nearly perfect dancing ability and a head that is a grotto with water, that is to say, deep and clear.
“Anónimo” is demanding, physically and also of skin and heart. Because if in “El Encuentro” the author sought collective warmth and celebration, in this view he looks inwards seeking out identity and introspection. And he has no qualms about asking for help. Ana Morales and Pedro de Córdoba collaborate in the choreography and on stage. David is one and a member of the trinity, because they dance beside him, like shadows, doubles or reflections, the excellent Eduardo Leal and Rafael Ramírez.
“Anónimo” is the name of the game, and it doesn’t mean unknown, but rather that we are several at once. “Tell me who you are, one or a thousand beings” sings Gema Caballero, grandiose and wise. And Coria is all those who dance and those by whom he is surrounded. She has the ability to be a sponge and pull the best out of others. And you know what to expect from her, not because she’s predictable, but rather because she has a style all her own.
Can you really have your own style with two works under your belt? Yes. I understand the reluctance of some colleagues of the press when flamencos artists say their work tells such-and-such story. I understand it, because it tends not to be so. Many wish to communicate something, but rarely do they achieve it and what tends to happen is that the promised story ends up being text on the handbill but the story fades away on the stage. With Coria, the opposite takes place. He made the serrana a style of his own, he is capable of carrying out perfect transitions, of doing each step in just the right place and communicating, and choosing the best accompaniment and the gifted lighting designer Gloria Montesinos, while at the same time piercing the heart of the entire work. That is his unique style. And spectators be advised that it is impossible to get lost in his work because everything is thought-out, reinforced, clear…but if you were to get lost, you still “at least” have beautiful dancing.
Which is why there are two ways to read Coria: you can simply watch, or you can let yourself get involved. For example, with regard to the sexes and genders. In “Anónimo”, a composition of Fernando Sors from Barcelona is included: “Muchacha, ¿y la vergüenza?”, a splendid piece to remind us why the 8M demonstration makes sense. All the more splendid if we take note that “Anónimo”, although it deals with fluctuating topics, is a male show, but of a maleness that interrogates, that looks itself in the mirror and sees the defects.
For this reason, when David turns into a woman hoisting Gema up on his shoulders, the skirt he’s wearing is the least of it. The important thing is he hides his face to allow hers to be seen. He could have disguised himself, but what he does is relinquish his place, as well as his body, to a woman who shines. It’s a farruca, in the execution, the idea, the strange feeling produced by that woman-man-bird that triggers good humor, although it always includes, thank you!, the Coria trademark which again appeared in the luminous tangos where he left room for his colleagues to shine.
Then it was time for the black clothing and a zapateado. And then, the petenera, the crowning glory and moment of greatest beauty when the Seville man danced alone, and how he danced!, showing he had fully taken on the part of main dancer in his company. And he smiled, perhaps to gather strength, perhaps to prepare for the ending of a dance form that was crying out for a fearless closing. It’s funny how many dancers forget to smile, as orienting as such a gesture is.
By this point Coria was dancing defiantly. Looking at Gema, begging for art, even more voice, complicity. And thus, exhausted and exultant, he took on the end of the performance when his shadows returned to repeat the steps from the beginning, creating the feeling that everything (time, space, identity) is cyclical. Then he was alone behind a gauze curtain. And now, without doubles, and with his face distorted through the curtain, David Coria appeared and moved as if he were larva prepared to be born all over again.